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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570563">rewrite an ending or two</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen'>fromiftowhen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Rookie (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, F/M, Mutual Pining, Singing, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:42:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromiftowhen/pseuds/fromiftowhen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not as nice as you were this morning, Lucy,” he says, but it almost sounds like a compliment. He barely looks away from her as he empties a cream and sugar into the cup and stirs quickly. </p>
<p>“Neither are you, <i>Officer Bradford,”</i> she says. She watches him smile, slow and easier than she’s maybe ever seen it. He’s something, for sure. She just isn’t sure <i>what,</i> exactly. </p>
<p>OR — A Chenford coffeeshop AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. sometimes life just creeps in</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Every fandom needs one, if you ask me, so here’s a Chenford coffeeshop AU. This will be likely three chapters, the majority of which is already written.</p>
<p>Title from She Used To Be Mine, by Sara Bareilles, from Waitress.</p>
<p>Thanks to Amanda, as always.</p>
<p>I’m fromiftowhen on Tumblr. Let’s be friends!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Luce, take over for me on counter?” </p>
<p>“Huh?” Lucy asks. She’s elbow deep in the oven, pulling trays of scones out when Micah sticks his head around the corner. </p>
<p>“Take over for me, at the counter?” He asks again, slowly. </p>
<p>“Kinda busy here, Mic,” she says, setting down the heavy trays on the counter with a little more force than necessary. She’s grateful for her job, she is, and baking is probably her best stress therapy, but her head isn’t in it this morning and the scones look a little worse for wear. </p>
<p>“Lucy. Look at the time. Step away from the scones, let me fix them, and go help Tanner on the counter.” She glances at him, raising her eyebrows slightly. “Like, respectfully, or whatever,” he adds. </p>
<p>Lucy glances at the clock. 7:05AM. That means she hasn’t stopped to look at the time in over two hours. Baking is definitely a science <em> and </em>a time suck. </p>
<p>“Oh, Micah. <em> Bless </em> you,” she says, tossing the oven mitts to him and wiping her hands on her apron. “Do I look like I’ve been up since 4AM?” She asks, trying to tuck wispy strands of hair behind her ears. </p>
<p>He makes a face and doesn’t answer, but she’s known him long enough to know that’s an answer all on its own. </p>
<p>“Whatever,” she sighs, backing out of the swing door and into the front of house. Tanner’s ringing up a regular customer, so Lucy grabs a mug and smiles across the counter. </p>
<p>“Usual, Mary?” She asks, already walking over to the bar. The door chimes as Mary answers, and Lucy glances over her shoulder as she’s pouring coffee into the mug. </p>
<p><em> Lord. Right on time. </em>She’s not awake enough to handle this temptation today. </p>
<p>Tanner’s hand on her arm pulls her back to the task at hand. The mug is full, close to spilling, and he just raises his eyebrows at her and takes the carafe from her hand. </p>
<p>“Good lord, just <em> go</em>,” he whispers, the laugh evident in his voice. </p>
<p>She clears her throat and turns to face the counter. Mary is smiling at her, waiting for her mug, and Lucy smiles, pointing at Tanner. “Tan’ll bring it out to you,” she says, pushing a couple napkins across the counter to her. </p>
<p>Mary turns to head for her normal table, and Lucy takes a deep breath in. <em> Clean laundry. Spicy aftershave. Mint. </em>It’s the only time of the day that the overwhelming scent of coffee isn’t the first thing she smells when she breathes in. </p>
<p>“Morning,” she says, hoping her voice sounds a little stronger than it feels bubbling out of her. </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, glancing up from his phone and smiling at her. He has a slow, killer smile. She’s not seen it much, but each time is better than the last. The glint of his badge shines from his belt, but she tries not to look. </p>
<p>“Same as usual, to-go?” She asks, fiddling with the clicker on her Sharpie. </p>
<p>He nods. He’s not much for words, she’s realized over the last few months. He doesn’t come in <em> every </em> morning, but most, and always between 7:05 and 7:15, like clockwork. It had taken her a couple mornings to realize he’s a cop, but looking at him now, his entire aura <em> screaming </em>cop, she’s not sure why. </p>
<p>She scribbles his order on a large to-go cup and glances up at him as she hits the <em> name </em> field. </p>
<p>He glances at the cup, at her waiting hand, and then smirks. It’s <em> painfully </em>sexy. “So you can remember my order perfectly every time, but not my name?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Tim. Tim Bradford. Officer T. Bradford. <br/>Hot Cop. </em>
</p>
<p> She’s heard him give his name for orders a hundred times. She’s seen him in uniform - and in street clothes, like now - enough times to memorize his name badge. But they’ve never actually <em> met, </em>not really. It feels different with him, somehow. It feels like a tell, too obvious, to remember his name so easily. </p>
<p>“I have an excellent memory,” she says, smirking back at him. “But we’ve not actually met, have we?” </p>
<p>He raises his eyebrows slightly. She’s surprised him. She gets the impression he’s not a man who’s surprised often. It’s a good look. He holds out his hand, and she glances at his long fingers as she presses her palm to his, a firm shake. </p>
<p>“Tim,” he says. </p>
<p>“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m —“</p>
<p>“Lucy,” he fills in, but she wasn’t quick enough to catch him looking at the name tag pinned to her apron. She doesn’t think he even glanced at it. </p>
<p>She nods. “Right.” She smiles, glancing away. </p>
<p>Behind her, she hears Tanner walk back into the kitchen and she shakes herself out of it, moving to the bar. He’s gone a few seconds as Lucy fills in Tim’s name on his cup and starts making his coffee. <em> One cream, one sugar, caffeinated, as hot as legally possible, </em>he’d said the first day he came in. </p>
<p>She’s just popping on the lid when she hears Micah’s voice loudly from the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Finally!” He all but shouts, and the sound of his and Tanner’s laughter floats through the door as Tanner walks back out. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” Tanner says, glancing between her and Tim. “Finally got that scone recipe <em> just </em>right,” he adds, stepping in to ring Tim’s coffee up. </p>
<p>Lucy walks back over to the counter with Tim’s cup and glares at Tanner. Tim smirks as he takes the coffee, and Lucy tries to ignore the brush of their fingers against the cup. </p>
<p>“Thanks, guys,” he says, putting his change in the tip jar and glancing briefly at Lucy. Lucy nods her thanks, smiling shakily as he turns and walks away. </p>
<p>“Have a good shift,” she calls, and immediately wants to die as he turns slightly and tosses a quick wave at her. </p>
<p>Beside her, Tanner can’t hide his laugh. </p>
<p>Tim walks out the door and Lucy stalks to the kitchen door, holding it open with her hip. Not surprisingly, Micah is about as close to the door as he can get while still working at the counter. </p>
<p>“You guys both <em> suck,</em>” she says, making sure Tanner hears her as well. </p>
<p>“At least you <em> officially </em> know Hot Cop’s name now, Luce,” Micah says, but she can barely make it out over the sound of his and Tanner’s laughter. </p>
<p>Their laughter follows her through the kitchen and back into the office. She has inventory to do, now that she has nothing to look forward to for the rest of her shift. </p>
<p>—————</p>
<p>The thing is, Lucy never expected to be a manager of a coffee shop at 28. Especially not at Deja Brew, the small chain she’s worked at off and on throughout high school and college, and now, apparently, grad school, too. The owners are great, and they’ve let her leave and come back and move between their three locations multiple times, never giving her grief. But the job itself never changes, and she feels pretty stuck, honestly. She loves the early mornings baking in the quiet of the kitchen, the only sounds the beeping of the oven and her own voice singing along to the constant playlist in her head. She thinks she could be happy doing that for a long time, but. It feels like there should be <em> more </em>to life than baking and singing. </p>
<p>She loves her coworkers, and she rarely ever has to play manager, as they’re all adults and get along great. Micah and Tanner are fun and annoying and like the little brothers she never had, and on the rare occasion she works with the evening shift, they have a good time too. </p>
<p>But at the end of the day, when she goes home to her small apartment and her stack of books and research for grad school, she doesn’t feel fulfilled. She’s always considered herself a happy, confident, curious person. She’s pretty sure she’s still all of those things, but rarely at the same time and never <em> enough.</em> </p>
<p>Grad school for psychology had never really been in the plans, but to be fair, Lucy isn’t sure she ever <em> had </em> a plan, really. It was something she was good at, it was in her genes, so when her parents had started asking <em> what comes next </em> after she completed her BA, and <em> I don’t know, Deja Brew? </em> hadn't <em> quite </em>lived up to their expectations, it had just kind of happened. </p>
<p>It sort of felt like a lot of things <em> just kind of happened </em> in her life, like she reacted a lot but was never proactive.</p>
<p>As much as it may not fulfill her, she knows she’s good at her job. She’s organized and on top of things and if lack of sleep and her nearly every morning Hot Cop distraction have taught her anything, she can do it all on auto pilot. </p>
<p>She does a quick inventory, works on some payroll, covers both Micah and Tanner for breaks, and helps Micah frost a sugar coma’s worth of cupcakes all before 2PM. </p>
<p>When Maggie comes in to relieve her, she almost doesn’t want to leave. All that’s waiting for her at home is a stack of research she doesn’t really want to delve into, and a fridge criminally lacking in healthy food. </p>
<p>She’s just pulled off her apron and pulled her hair out of its standard work bun when she hears the familiar jangle of a utility belt and the heavy drop of steel toed boots accompanying the door chime. Deja Brew is just a couple blocks from the Mid-Wilshire precinct, making it cop central around here, so it’s a pretty recognizable sound. She glances up quickly, anticipating, but her nerves calm when she spots an unfamiliar face. She glances around. Maggie isn’t back from the office yet and Tanner and Micah are nowhere to be found. </p>
<p>“Hey,” she says, smiling and setting down her bag. “What can I get for you?”</p>
<p>“Hi, uh. Can I please have a large iced coffee, and uh, sorry,” — he glances at his phone before looking back up. “A large coffee, one cream, one sugar, and <em> please god </em>, as hot as you can legally make it.”</p>
<p>Lucy laughs. “That’s funny, we have a regular who always orders his coffee that same way,” she says, ringing up the order. “What are the names?” It’s a silly question, the only other customer in the store is a regular, so it’s not like she needs to know. It’s just a force of habit after almost 12 years. </p>
<p>The cop smiles. “The iced is for me, Jackson. The other is for Offi— Tim,” he says, catching himself and scratching the back of his neck a little awkwardly. </p>
<p>“That would be him,” Lucy smiles. “Nice to meet you,” — she checks his name badge. “Officer West.”</p>
<p>“Jackson is fine,” he says, pulling out a few bills and taking back his change when she holds it out. “Hey, I’m sorry, but do you think you could make these in like, record, superhuman time? This has <em> not </em> been a good first day, and I don’t want to—“ </p>
<p>Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by the chime of the door and that same familiar trudge of boots. </p>
<p>“Boot, does it <em> really </em>take you this long to get a simple coffee order?”</p>
<p>Tim’s voice is harsher than she’s ever heard it, and for just a moment she lets herself live in the gravel of it. And then she glances at Jackson. </p>
<p>His entire posture changes before Lucy’s eyes, like he’s a soldier readying to salute a senior officer. “No, sir,” Jackson says, glancing almost helplessly at Lucy. Tim’s gaze finally follows and Lucy swears his eyes roam down over the wave of her hair quickly before snapping back to Jackson. </p>
<p>“Did you already pay?” He asks, glancing at Lucy again. The question clearly isn’t for her, though. Jackson nods.</p>
<p>“Did you <em> tip</em>?” Jackson glances at her quickly, looking torn. He hadn’t, is the thing, not that Lucy would judge him for it today. He looks like he wants to disappear into the ocean. </p>
<p>Lucy smiles and nods. “He did,” she says, and Tim’s eyes flit to her. If it’s possible, he’s maybe hotter in uniform, but Lucy isn’t sure she likes his attitude right now. </p>
<p>“Fine. Here, Boot.” He tosses a set of keys to Jackson, and Lucy gives him props for catching them in his state. “Go wait in the shop and pull up the record of the guy from the last call. Figure out what you could have done better,” he says. Jackson tosses her a quick, thankful glance and is out the door before she can respond. </p>
<p>Tim turns to her, his hands on his utility belt, and his voice is softer when he addresses her. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s his first day,” like that explains anything. </p>
<p>Lucy stares. Maybe his quiet demeanor in the morning isn’t him being half-asleep or just not that talkative. Maybe he’s just kind of a dick. </p>
<p>Maggie chooses that moment to walk out from the kitchen, glancing between Lucy with her hair down, and Tim, neither of them talking or moving. She clears her throat. “Luce, I can take over if you want to get going.”</p>
<p>Lucy smiles at her, but it’s forced. “No, Mags. I’m good, I’ll come do handover when I’m done here,” she says, only turning back to Tim as the door swings shut behind Maggie. </p>
<p>Tim’s watching her as she turns back, and she tries to ignore the fleeting chill that runs down her back. It’s been a long time since a man looked at her as intensely as he is now. It’s possible it’s never happened. </p>
<p>“You know, his name is <em> West, </em>not Boot,” she says, grabbing two to-go cups and moving down the bar to start their order. He follows, his eyes trailing her down the bar over the glass barrier and watching her work. She doesn't miss his chuckle over the hiss of the carafe heating. </p>
<p>“Trust me, he’s basically my boss’s boss’s boss’s son, I <em> know </em> his name,” he laughs quietly. “Boot is just how we refer to the rookies.”</p>
<p>She scoffs, quickly trying to cover the noise with the ice she’s scooping into Jackson’s cup. </p>
<p>“Did you just <em> scoff </em>at me?” He asks, incredulous, and his voice is low, close to her. He’s tall, and it was the first thing she ever noticed about him on her first day at this location, months ago. He’s long and lean and his arms are wonderfully built, and he’s tall enough that the glass barrier between them is basically pointless. </p>
<p>“Yeah, but you weren’t supposed to hear,” she mutters, glancing up as she mixes Jackson’s drink. He’s full on smirking at her, and she’s pretty sure this morning she would have found it truly sexy. Now, it’s kind of annoying. </p>
<p>“It’s a little rude,” he says, an edge to his voice. </p>
<p>“So is referring to a new officer as an inanimate object,” she challenges. “He seems <em> terrified </em>of you.”</p>
<p>“He’s supposed to be, and he’ll be a better cop for it,” he says, watching her pour his coffee, leaving room for his cream and sugar. </p>
<p>“Okay,” she says, only barely concealing an eye roll as she remembers he’s a customer, and a cop, and not just her Hot Cop she tries, and usually fails, not to think about outside of the shop. </p>
<p>She places the cups on the bar, tossing a couple creamers and sugars next to his. This morning, and each one before it, she’d made a point of mixing them in before handing the coffee over. </p>
<p>He looks like he wants to laugh. “You’re not as nice as you were this morning, Lucy,” he says, but it almost sounds like a compliment. He barely looks away from her as he empties a cream and sugar into the cup and stirs quickly. </p>
<p>“Neither are you, <em>Officer</em> <em>Bradford</em>,” she says. She watches him smile, slow and easier than she’s maybe ever seen it. He’s something, for sure. She just isn’t sure <em>what, </em>exactly. </p>
<p>“Try again tomorrow, I guess,” he says. </p>
<p>He leaves the coffees on the counter and pulls a couple bills out of a money clip on his belt. He walks over to the register slowly, and Lucy isn’t sure anyone’s ever kept her eye contact so long. He presses the money into the tip jar and she smiles, unsure. </p>
<p>“Also, I know he didn’t tip you. Don’t lie for him,” he warns, striding over for the cups. He tosses her one more quick glance before he’s out the door, quick as he came in. </p>
<p><em> “Crap,” </em> she mutters, grabbing her bag and heading to the office to turn the safe over to Maggie. Seeing him twice in one day is a lot to handle. He’s definitely more than a quiet Hot Cop. She might be in trouble. </p>
<p>—————</p>
<p>Except he doesn’t show up the next morning, or the morning after that. Micah and Tanner don’t say anything when she pops her head out of the kitchen a couple times over those days, and she tips them out a little more each as a silent thanks for not making any more fun of her than necessary. </p>
<p>By 8AM on the third morning, she’s pretty sure her hot cop has found a new coffee shop, with a barista who doesn’t scoff or insult him. She <em> almost </em> doesn’t blame him. She thinks she’ll miss his smile most of all. </p>
<p>So many cops come in throughout the day that she barely pays attention when another radio squawks at the counter while she’s covering Tanner and wiping down some tables. </p>
<p>She glances up and smiles, heading over to greet Jackson. He smiles as she walks over. She realizes for the first time, without the strain of Tim’s presence, he looks pretty young.</p>
<p>“Hey, Jackson,” she says, washing her hands quickly as he glances over the menu. </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says, distractedly. She wonders if he's waiting for Tim to come bursting through the door. She’s <em> definitely </em>not keeping an eye and an ear on the door, at all. </p>
<p>“How’s your first week been?” She asks, drying her hands. </p>
<p>He sighs, and when he finally looks her in the eye, she realizes he looks like shit. <em> Jesus.  </em></p>
<p>“It’s been, uh. Different than I thought it’d be,” he says, rubbing a hand over his hair. </p>
<p>“I can only imagine,” she says, quietly. “How do you even prepare for a job like that.” It’s not a question, and she’s pretty sure he couldn’t answer it, even if it was. </p>
<p>“Yeah, you can’t prepare for your TO getting shot on your first day, that’s for sure.”</p>
<p>She nods, pulling a cup off the stack before stopping. “Wait, what? Your <em> who?” </em></p>
<p>“Sorry. Uh, my training officer, Officer Bradford, Tim?”</p>
<p>She sets the cup down, pretty sure she couldn’t pour a cup of coffee right now to save even her own life. “<em>Tim </em>was shot? Is he… okay?” She’s afraid to leave the question open-ended, it leaves too many very real possibilities. </p>
<p>Jackson nods, grimacing. “Sorry, I forgot you’ve actually known him longer than I have. Yeah, he’s going home today. He’ll be okay. He did everything right. I don’t think <em> I </em>did, but he’ll be okay, regardless.”</p>
<p>She exhales and picks up the cup again, needing to do something with her hands. “Okay. That’s good,” she says. </p>
<p>“I figured so many cops are in here, maybe you’d have overheard,” he says, by way of apology. “That same day we were in here? I didn’t even get to finish my coffee, it all happened so fast.”</p>
<p><em> “Man,” </em> she whispers. She tries to remember what she’d done that afternoon after Tim had walked out. She’d gone home and what? Studied, like she did everyday? It felt so weird to be doing something so mundane when someone else’s life was changing. </p>
<p>He nods. His radio squawks again, and he glances down quickly, listening. He doesn’t take off, so she figures he’s good. </p>
<p>“Coffee?” She asks, gesturing to him with the cup. </p>
<p>“<em>Please. </em>Iced.” She nods, walking down to the bar and filling the cup. She glances up at him a couple times. The difference in his presence and Tim’s is staggering. She watches him eyeing the pastries in the case between them, and gets an idea. </p>
<p>“Hey,” she says, holding his cup over the bar, but holding on as he tries to take it. “Do you have any way of getting some food to Tim?”</p>
<p>He watches her for a moment, maybe trying to deduce if she’s trying to poison his TO. She’s not entirely sure which side he’d fall on there, pro or con. “Yeah, actually,” he says, and she lets go of the cup, figures he’s sized her up to be safe. “I have to take some files over to him later, but I’m pretty sure he’d actually hate that?”</p>
<p>She laughs. “Too bad,” she says. “Got a couple minutes? Coffee and pastry on me while you wait?”</p>
<p>He nods, glancing over his shoulder out the window, and she assumes whoever he’s riding with now is much less rigid than Tim. “Lucy, I think we just became best friends,” he says, leaning down to eye the pastry case closer as she gathers some stuff for a care package for Tim. </p>
<p>He points and she laughs, handing him a pastry on a plate and grabbing a few pastries and sandwiches out of the case, and a small bag of their house blend coffee off the shelf. She debates for a moment, and then tosses a handful of creamer and sugar packets in too, and grabs a napkin and her Sharpie. </p>
<p><em> Glad you’re okay. Our tip jar would have been </em> <em> very </em> <em> sad. — Lucy &amp; the Deja Brew crew  </em></p>
<p>
  <em> P.S. Nice enough for you? </em>
</p>
<p>Jackson’s been watching her scribble, and he laughs as she looks up. “Oh, he’s gonna <em> hate </em> that,” he warns. </p>
<p>“Good.” She shrugs, tossing everything in a bag and stapling the note to the handle. </p>
<p>“I’ll make sure he gets it. If he lets me out of there alive, I’ll see you later. Thanks for the snack,” he says, taking the bag and smiling at her. </p>
<p>She nods, smiling back. He’s almost to the door when she stops him. “Hey, Officer West. Glad you’re okay, don’t beat yourself up.” </p>
<p>He smiles, but doesn’t say anything before he walks out. </p>
<p>She puts her hands on the counter and leans in, stretching, trying to release some tension. Her hands shake slightly in front of her, and she breathes in shakily. <em> In, one, two, three four. Out, slowly, one, two, three, four.  </em></p>
<p>The door chime sounds and she pulls herself upright, putting on a smile. </p>
<p>“Welcome to Deja Brew! What can I get for you?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. and makes you believe it's all true</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Hot cop barely took his eyes off you while you were at the bar,” Tanner whispers, sidling up to her while she’s wiping down the counter. </p>
<p>“He has a <i>name,”</i> she says, glancing up at Tim. He’s looking at his phone, and she takes the moment to watch him in profile. </p>
<p><i>Hot cop</i> is truly accurate in all ways, but other descriptors work, too, she’s learned. <i>Focused. Tough. Charming. Flirty.</i></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends! Hoping this helps fill the gap of a Rookie-less Sunday night. </p>
<p>Fair warning -- the third chapter is not yet finished, so it will be a little while before it's up. On the plus side, there's a possibility this may end up being more than three chapters total.</p>
<p>Thanks again to Amanda, who literally got out of her sick bed to read this and answer my plea for help.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When her alarm goes off at 4AM a couple days later, she reaches over and turns it off and glances around the room. It’s dark, but she can still make out the books and papers she’d fallen asleep with just a couple hours previously. </p>
<p>The water is cold as she steps under the shower spray, and she doesn’t know why she’s always surprised. She blames it on 4AM being about five hours earlier than any normal person should be up. She closes her eyes under the spray and tries not to think about the dream her alarm had interrupted. The sound of gunshots echoes in the shower and she knows it’s not real, but she shivers all the same. </p>
<p>She knows nothing about what happened to Tim, but she can <em> imagine, </em>and she’s always had an overactive imagination. </p>
<p>It feels ridiculous to dream about a man she sees a few times a week, who she’s barely said more than twenty words to at any given time. She knows the psychological side of it, she <em> gets </em>that her brain is trying to process some complicated feelings the only way she’ll allow it to, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. </p>
<p>The drive to work is quiet, and just like most other mornings, she’s on autopilot. Before she knows it, she’s standing in front of a mixing bowl at the counter, cracking eggs for the cafe’s breakfast quiche. She could make it in her sleep, she’s done it so many times. The dough for the crust is resting next to her, and she flours the counter, rolling out enough for two crusts. She transfers them to the pie tins and pops them in the oven for a few minutes. The egg and veggie mixture is ready to be poured in when the crusts come out, so she lets herself sit down for a minute. </p>
<p>Her music is loud, but she still cracks open her most boring textbook. Anytime she can read during the day, when she’s not curled up in her bed where the possibility of sleep always tempts her, she takes it. </p>
<p>She remembers her first psych class as an undergrad, how she’d felt <em> so advanced </em>, sure her parents had prepared her for all of it. </p>
<p>They hadn’t. She’d learned a lot about herself in the process. She’d go to work at her old Deja Brew and want to be home <em> studying. </em>She’d be in her college boyfriend’s bed and want to be in her own, surrounded by books and notes. </p>
<p>(He’d been the wrong guy, the first in a string of many, but that had very little to do with it.)</p>
<p>She doesn’t know when that feeling faded, that desire to <em> learn. </em> It had never really been more than that, though. She’d never been able to picture herself in an office, seeing patients all day like her parents. They did noble work, came home stressed and concerned and overjoyed for their patients, and she watched them thrive in their careers. They were great examples, but eventually, it felt like she was just copying them, and not trying to learn from them. When her advisors and TAs would ask <em> where do you see yourself in five years? Where do you see yourself in your career? </em> she’d always been at a loss. None of the pieces really fit. </p>
<p>And now, even though she feels stuck, she’d rather be here, in this kitchen, in a messy apron with her music loud, than anywhere else. The oven timer beeps and she closes her book. She hasn’t read a single sentence she’ll remember. </p>
<p>She takes the crusts out of the oven and pours in the filling, tapping the pie tins lightly on the counter to even them out. She glances at the time as she slides them back in the oven. <em> 5:30. </em>Tanner will be here any minute. They open at 6, and sometimes Tanner or Micah will come in early to help her bake, but Micah has a Stats test this morning, so she’ll pull double duty, floating between the kitchen and the counter as Tanner works the morning rush. At least it’ll help the morning pass. </p>
<p>She adjusts her hair net — the bane of her existence in the kitchen — and wipes her hands on her apron, checking on the next thing on the list. <em> Mix cookie dough for PM shift. </em>Easy enough. </p>
<p>Except she isn’t paying attention as she adds the dry ingredients to the wet a few minutes later, and there’s no excuse for it except that she takes her autopilot mode for granted. Flour dusts up absolutely everywhere, and she curses, turning the mixer off quickly. </p>
<p>“Son of a <em> bitch,” </em>she swears, dragging her floured hands down her apron and absent-mindedly running a hand over her hair net. She’s mixed this dough a thousand times. She’s just not paying enough attention today. </p>
<p>Her phone chooses that exact moment to buzz on the counter. </p>
<p><em>Lemme innnnn, I brought you gifts, </em>she reads. Tanner could easily ring the bell on the door, but he always texts because he knows her music is usually loud. </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, grabbing a hand towel and trying to wipe most of the flour off. It lingers everywhere, always. She backs out of the kitchen and heads around the counter for the door, flipping the dining room lights on as she goes. </p>
<p>“Couldn’t have picked a worse time, Tan,” she says, but she’s smiling as she unlocks the door. </p>
<p>She pushes the door open and Tanner turns to her, mid-sentence. He stops as his eyes take her in, and she can see him trying not to laugh. </p>
<p>“Oh, <em> hon. </em> I am <em> so </em> sorry,” he whispers, thrusting a cardboard box in her hand and sliding by her. “ <em> Hair net, hair net,” </em>he adds, under his breath, and she gives him a questioning look as he continues walking away. </p>
<p>Someone clears their throat at the door and her blood runs cold. That simple noise sounds familiar, somehow, even though it shouldn’t. </p>
<p><em>Clean laundry. Spicy aftershave. Mint. </em>She reaches up to whip off the hair net, but it’s no use. </p>
<p>“Don’t do that on my account, although I will say the hair net is definitely a <em> look,” </em>Tim says, from where he’s leaning against the brick building. </p>
<p>“Uh,” she says, trying to run a hand through her hair. <em> Genius.  </em></p>
<p>“Sorry, I, uh. I thought you guys opened at 5 for some reason, and I happened to walk up at the same time as the coworker you look like you now want to murder.”</p>
<p>“Tanner,” she supplies, like that adds anything to the conversation. </p>
<p>“Right,” he says, a slow smirk spreading across his face. She can only imagine what she looks like. “Well, at least wait until I leave to murder him, I don’t <em> really </em>want to put you in cuffs.”</p>
<p>She feels her face flush, but she nods, trying to keep a serious face. He looks remarkably good for someone who got shot less than a week ago. She lets herself glance down his body, the long line of his jeans and long sleeve henley keeping her from really examining him. </p>
<p>“Trying to use your x-ray vision to find my bullet?” </p>
<p>She looks up to meet his eyes, and he’s still smirking at her. “Huh? No.” </p>
<p>“You <em>are</em> <em>really </em>a bad liar,” he says, straightening up and crossing his arms. </p>
<p>“Most people would consider that a good thing,” she argues, leaning carefully against the open door. She knows she’s covered in flour and is likely leaving imprints everywhere. </p>
<p>“Didn’t say it wasn’t,” he assures, putting his hands in his front pockets and just looking at her. It’s at once intimidating, inordinately sexy, and just plain <em> cute.  </em></p>
<p>A helicopter roars overhead and she suddenly realizes she’s not let him in. Technically, she isn’t supposed to, but she figures if she’s going to let any random person in early, a cop isn’t the worst option. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry. Here,” she says, moving out of the way and nodding inside. </p>
<p>“You’re not open yet,” he says, standing still. “I can come back. I was just on my way to the station and thought I’d bring my Watch Commander a coffee to soften the blow of all the paperwork I caused this week.”</p>
<p>“No, seriously, come in. It’s basically already six,” she tells him, glancing at the clock. Tanner better be checking her quiches. </p>
<p>He rolls his eyes but moves past her into the cafe anyways. She takes the opportunity while his back is turned to watch him walk. He doesn’t seem to be limping, if the long stride of his legs is anything to go by. His ass seems fine too, not that she pays it any attention. </p>
<p>He turns and catches her looking him over, but he doesn’t say anything while she closes and turns the lock on the door. She’d leave it open, but she hasn’t brought the till out yet, so she doesn’t want an unnecessary line. The uninterrupted time with Tim is just a plus. </p>
<p>She clears her throat, turning back to him. “You look <em> really </em> good for someone who just got shot,” she blurts out, because it’s literally the only thing she can think about. She’s afraid she would have continued her monosyllabic streak if she didn’t let the comment out. </p>
<p>He gestures to the left side of his abdomen. “It was through and through, so it’s basically just like a really big, unwanted piercing,” he shrugs, like that’s a normal reaction to a gunshot wound. </p>
<p>“I don’t think that’s actually true, but regardless, it’s good to have you back.” </p>
<p>He nods. “Damn straight.” He looks around at the dining room, the counter that isn’t yet ready for customers, before his eyes fall back to her. </p>
<p>“Not the best scenery in here this early, I know,” she says. The dining room is comfy — tables and wingback chairs and loveseats all mixed together around a small stage — but it’s a little boring without the option of people watching. </p>
<p>He shakes his head slightly, and she suddenly remembers what she must look like. “I don’t know about that,” he says, but it’s quiet, and maybe a little flirty. He’s <em> good, </em>and he absolutely knows it, if the easy smile he gives her is any indication. She has to focus on something else, for her own sake. </p>
<p>“Why are you up so early, anyways? We don’t usually see you until 7ish,” she says, just to change the topic, hoping the <em> -ish </em> plays it just casual enough. </p>
<p>The lingering look he fixes her with tells her it <em> probably </em>doesn’t. “Couldn’t sleep. Normally, I’d just get in some miles, but you know, bullet wound.” He says it like he’s talking about a splinter. </p>
<p>“Um, yeah. Probably should take it easy. Here, sit, I’ll start your coffee.” She gestures to a nearby table, and moves to pull down one of the chairs from its stack, when he waves her away. </p>
<p>“I’ve got it,” he says, and she tries not to stare as he reaches up and grimaces slightly before putting the chair on the floor. He tries to mask it well, but it’s clear he’s still healing. </p>
<p>She lets herself touch his shoulder lightly, moving around the table as he sits, strong muscle evident even under his layers of clothing. She watches his eyes flicker to his shoulder, her hand, slowly to her face. </p>
<p>“Are you going back to work <em> today?” </em>She asks, hoping the answer is no. </p>
<p>He shakes his head as her hand falls away. She puts the box from Tanner on the table in front of him as he answers. “No, I just have to turn in some paperwork and check on my Boot — uh, Officer West.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Jackson. He had quite the first day, huh,” she says. While she waits for his answer, she moves slowly around the room, unstacking chairs and straightening cushions. It’s automatic. She wouldn’t really know what to do with herself if she stood still in this room. </p>
<p>He laughs, and it’s maybe a little low and bitter, but it’s a new sound to her. She’s curious what it would sound like happy. “Might have been more than he bargained for, yeah.”</p>
<p>She feels his eyes on her as she finishes the last table, and she thinks about telling him how exhausted Jackson looked the other day, how maybe this was more impactful on people than he thinks, but she doesn’t want to overstep and ruin whatever easy truce they’ve got going this morning. </p>
<p>She walks around the counter to start his coffee, but curses quietly as she reaches the bar. Maggie’s crew had forgotten to set the timer the night before, and she’d not bothered to check it, on autopilot this morning. </p>
<p>“Sorry,” she groans, as he turns toward her curse. “It’ll be a few more minutes. It’s kind of been one of those mornings. You good to hang out? Coffee‘s on the house.” She’s not sure why it feels like her entire day depends on him saying yes. </p>
<p>He nods, but the smile she’s hoping for doesn’t happen. “I’ll pay for the coffee,” he says, in a tone he probably thinks won’t leave room for argument. He doesn’t know her that well, yet. “You’ve given me enough <em> on the house </em>to last a lifetime.”</p>
<p>She shakes her head. “Just… don’t get shot again, and we’ll call it even,” she says, biting her lip slightly. It feels a little more loaded a request than she should make of a man she barely knows. </p>
<p>That gets her a slow, small quirk of his lips. </p>
<p>“You don’t know this about me yet, but I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But, that’s <em> nice of you,” </em> he says, pointedly. It’s a thank you, and if the look he gives her is any indication, he doesn’t want an acknowledgement. She nods anyway. </p>
<p>It’s quiet for a moment, and she thinks about telling him she tries to not make any promises either — not because she’s afraid she won’t be able to keep them, but because she’s afraid she’ll have to, and that would mean trusting herself enough to not second-guess everything. </p>
<p>A noise from the kitchen keeps her quiet though, and she glances at the clock quickly. <em> Crap.  </em></p>
<p>“Hey, sorry. I’ll be right back,” she says, holding up a finger. He nods and she turns to head back to the kitchen. </p>
<p>Tanner is at the counter. Her music is still on, but quiet, and he’s humming along. To her relief, the quiches are on the counter, cooling, the cookie dough disaster is cleaned up, and he’s piling a tray with items for the pastry case. </p>
<p>He turns as the door swings shut, a questioning look on his face. “Fired?” He asks, a laugh already working its way to the surface. </p>
<p><em>“This,” </em> she says, gesturing to the work he’s done in just a few minutes, “saved you. Couldn’t have given me a heads up, though? Like, ‘hey Luce, the hot cop you’ve lusted after for months is here, maybe pull your shit together before he sees you?’ Something like that?” She’s trying to keep her voice low, but she hears the scrape of a chair leg against the linoleum in the dining room, and she hopes she’s succeeding. </p>
<p>Tanner smiles. “I <em> told </em> you I was bringing you gifts,” he says, shrugging. “That man is the best looking gift I could ever give you.” </p>
<p>“I don’t think he’s yours to <em> give, </em>Tan,” she laughs, quietly. “But you’re not wrong.”</p>
<p>Tanner nods, smug. “I was going to warn you, but he distracted me. Have you <em> seen </em>his smile?” </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes, glancing over at the kitchen door. “I <em> know,” </em> she mouths, fanning herself jokingly. </p>
<p>“When you go fill the case will you check the carafe for me so I can go… fix this?” she asks, gesturing down her body. She can’t do much, but she can fix her hair and make sure her face isn’t caked in flour. </p>
<p>He laughs, shouldering the heavy tray and moving past her. </p>
<p>“Don’t embarrass me,” she pleads, quietly, as he pushes out the door. He winks, and she turns for the office and her purse before she can roll her eyes. </p>
<p>The small mirror in the office confirms most of her fears. She shakes her hair out of its messy bun and combs through the waves. It’ll have to go back up eventually, but for now she’ll make do. The feel of his eyes on her, even just on her hair the other day, is too tempting to pass up. She pulls off her stained kitchen apron and fixes her name tag to her shirt. She doesn’t usually bother with much makeup in the mornings, since it all tends to sweat off in the kitchen, so she just double checks for specks of flour or other ingredients and calls it good enough. </p>
<p>She grabs the till from the safe and makes her way back out to the front. </p>
<p>“Just in time,” Tanner says as she makes her way to the register, and the sly edge to his voice has her glancing up between him and Tim immediately. </p>
<p>“Um,” she says, logging into the register and popping the till in. </p>
<p>“I was just telling <em> Tim </em> here about our open mic night,” he says, and Lucy is pretty sure the color immediately drains from her face. “The <em> gift </em> I brought you, the flyers we talked about last week?” Lucy sees a brightly colored paper in Tim’s hand, and reaches across the counter to pluck it out of his grasp. </p>
<p>He raises his eyebrows at her, but doesn’t say anything. </p>
<p><em>“Sorry,” </em>she mutters. “But pretty sure you could have stopped me if you’d wanted to,” she says. “You should be sitting, by the way.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a good sitter,” he mutters, rolling his eyes and taking another flyer off the stack in the box as she scans the paper in her hand. </p>
<p><em>Featuring Deja’s own Lucy Chen </em>is printed way too big across the bright flyer. </p>
<p>“<em>Tanner,” </em> she groans. “It’s like you <em> actually </em>want me to fire you.”</p>
<p>“Micah designed them. I’ve done only <em> nice </em> things for you today,” he says, standing and waving to the pastry case with a flourish. It <em> does </em> look good, which reminds her to glance at the clock quickly. </p>
<p>“Wanna flip the sign and unlock?” </p>
<p>Tanner nods. As he walks behind Tim on the opposite side of the counter, he waves his arms in the same flourish. <em> “A gift,” </em>he mouths. </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes as she turns to check the carafe. Behind her, she knows Tim is still scanning the flyer, and for some reason, she’s more nervous than she remembers feeling in a long time. She readies the machine for the day and quickly fills a mug for him, adding cream and sugar and stirring slowly, watching his long fingers on the paper. </p>
<p>“Here,” she says, walking the mug over to him. He reaches for it, but she keeps her grip on the handle. His fingers brush hers and she makes herself keep eye contact, even though she desperately needs to verify there aren’t actual sparks burning her skin where he’s touching her. “You can have it if you sit down.”</p>
<p>Tim glares at her, but either he’s actually in pain or he’s desperate for coffee, because he sits. She can’t imagine another world where he wouldn’t have pushed back a little. She can read <em> stubborn </em>a mile off.</p>
<p>He sets the flyer on the table and looks up at her, nodding his thanks as she lets him take the mug. She watches his eyes track Tanner across the dining room to grab his apron off its hook, tying it quickly. </p>
<p>“Featuring Deja’s own Lucy Chen,” Tim says, quietly, like it’s a secret for just the two of them. Like there’s some alternate universe where they know each other well enough to have secrets. “It’s not in my job description to assume, but I imagine there aren’t multiple Lucy’s who work here.”</p>
<p>She nods, glancing away from him. </p>
<p>“I’m betting you do more than just host, but I don’t know much about open mic nights,” he admits, taking a sip of coffee and fidgeting with the edge of the flyer in front of him. </p>
<p>She nods again, wondering why these words are so hard for her to get out. Anyone who’s spent more than five quiet minutes around her knows she sings, and some might even say she does it well. It takes her a minute to realize that Tim isn’t one of these people. It’s weird, feeling like he is, or should be, like he already knows her in that way, when he really doesn’t know her at all. </p>
<p>“I sing a little,” she says, almost begrudgingly. </p>
<p>He nods, and behind them, Tanner laughs. </p>
<p>“Don’t let her downplay it. The girl <em> sings,” </em> he says, as if the emphasis proves it. “Like, definitely shouldn’t work here, should quit grad school and get rich, <em> sings.”  </em></p>
<p>Tim raises his eyebrows at her, like he’s waiting for confirmation. The chime of the door interrupts anything she might have said, and on autopilot she gathers her hair into a quick bun so she can head back behind the counter if needed. She doesn’t mean to, but her eyes land on him as she ties up her hair. She pauses — he’s already watching her, his gaze heavy as her hands move through her hair. </p>
<p>Tanner’s voice greeting the customer breaks through the haze of Tim’s stare and he blinks, looking away. She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and watches him glance back down at the flyer. </p>
<p>“Sounds like you’re pretty good,” he says, and there’s that slow, easy, <em> maybe flirty </em>smile again. </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes, glancing away. “I dunno. Shower hasn’t kicked me out yet, I guess.”</p>
<p>His smile turns into a low chuckle, and her skin heats as his eyes flit quickly down her body and back up. “I’m sure,” he says, low and easy. </p>
<p><em>Definitely </em>flirty. The door chimes again and Lucy glances away from him reluctantly to see a large group come in together. She glances behind her to Tanner, his back to the door. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta —“ she gestures to the counter, and Tim nods. “Let me know if you’re taking off and I’ll grab that to-go for you,” she says, backing up toward the counter. </p>
<p>He nods again and she turns to help Tanner. </p>
<p>—————</p>
<p>Their first morning rush goes by quickly. She and Tanner work together well, and by the time the last customer leaves the counter a little while later, she’s basically over wanting to fire him. </p>
<p>“Hot cop barely took his eyes off you while you were at the bar,” he whispers, sidling up to her while she’s wiping down the counter. </p>
<p><em>Basically </em>over wanting to fire him. </p>
<p>“He has a <em> name,” </em>she says, glancing up at Tim. He’s looking at his phone, and she takes the moment to watch him in profile. </p>
<p><em>Hot cop </em> is truly accurate in all ways, but other descriptors work, too, she’s learned. <em> Focused. Tough. Charming. Flirty. </em></p>
<p>“Just calling it like I see it,” he says, turning to haul a tub of dirty mugs back to the kitchen. </p>
<p>She smiles, watching him go. When she turns back to the counter, Tim’s standing there, holding his empty mug and putting what looks like a folded up piece of paper in his pocket, watching her. </p>
<p><em>“Jesus,” </em> she mutters, startled. </p>
<p>He shakes his head, pointing to his face. “No, <em> Tim,” </em> he says, sarcastically. </p>
<p>She lets out a laugh, quiet, pointedly fake to match his tone. “Mhmm. You’re just very stealth, <em> Tim.” </em></p>
<p>She takes the mug from him, starting a new dish tub under the counter. </p>
<p>“Part of the job, I guess.” His hands are in his pockets again. It’s charming, to the point where she almost can’t look away. “You two were slammed there for a while,” he says. </p>
<p>She nods, shrugging. “It’s not life or death or anything, but it gets a little hectic.”</p>
<p>“It’s life or death to the caffeine addicts you had in line,” he says, and she smiles. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I guess.” </p>
<p>She fidgets with the rag in her hand, swiping it slowly over the already clean counter. It feels silly, not knowing what to say. He’s a customer, and she can make small talk until she runs out of breath, normally. But it feels like they should be beyond that, in a way she can’t really understand. </p>
<p>“More coffee?” She asks, but it’s not the question she wants an answer to. She doesn’t know what that question is exactly, but she wants to sit and talk to him for a few hours and figure it out, she’s pretty sure. </p>
<p>He shakes his head, and she hopes her face doesn’t show her disappointment. </p>
<p>“I’ve gotta get to the station, maybe just a coffee to-go?”</p>
<p>She nods, turning to grab a cup. The process of cup, carafe, pour, settle, stir, lid is as automatic to her as breathing at this point, so she doesn’t have to think about making quiet conversation until she turns to hand him the cup and his fingers linger over hers. <em> Again.  </em></p>
<p>“You’re here early, have a long day?” His question catches her by surprise, and she wants to know his follow-up before the answer is even out of her mouth. </p>
<p>“I’m usually out by 2, depending on the rush.”</p>
<p>“Coffee rush happens at 2PM?” He looks a little incredulous and she wonders how Jackson survived even those first few hours. </p>
<p>“Mid-afternoon, post-lunch crash. We don’t all have adrenaline junkie jobs,” she reminds him. </p>
<p>He smirks, and <em> oh, okay. </em>His smirk isn’t an answer, but it’s distracting enough that all she can do is stare for a moment. </p>
<p>The kitchen door swinging open in her peripheral snaps her out of it, and she’s at once relieved and annoyed. Tim’s not much for words, she’s gathered, but she is, and the longer the silence stretches between them, the more likely she is to ramble, she knows. </p>
<p>Tanner glances between them, and she knows he doesn’t miss the way their hands are still close on the counter — not touching, but easily within reach. </p>
<p>“Sorry, Luce. Micah left his stats notes at my place last night, he’s gonna drive by in a second for me to run them out to him,” he says, holding up a well-worn notebook. </p>
<p>She nods. “Tell him good luck,” she says, watching him walk around the counter and out the door. The chime sounds as he leaves and Lucy turns back to Tim. </p>
<p>She circles the counter, aware that his eyes are on her. It’s rare to have a quiet moment in the morning, and anytime she can get out from the kitchen or behind the counter, she tries to. She leans against the counter next to him, watching as Tanner jogs up to the drivers side window of Micah’s car. She can just see Micah glance in the direction of the counter, although she knows he can’t really see in. He glances back at Tanner and smiles, leaning closer, and Lucy feels a little like a voyeur. </p>
<p>Her face feels flushed and she can feel Tim’s eyes on her, the heat radiating from his tall frame. Caffeine is basically in her veins every waking minute, but her desire to somehow be closer to him is still the most addictive thing she’s ever encountered.  </p>
<p>“Are they together?” He asks, and her surprise at the question must be evident. He raises his eyebrows, and she takes a moment to glance back out the window. They’re still talking, and if she had to bet, it’s about her. </p>
<p>“I… I don’t think so,” she says, glancing up at him. She doesn’t know, is the thing. Maybe she’s not as adept at analyzing people as she thought. She spends a lot of time with Micah and Tanner at work, but not usually all together to watch them interact.</p>
<p>“You sure?” He asks, that same incredulous tone creeping in. It feels like a test. </p>
<p>She shakes her head. “Not ever,” she admits, and it feels a little too heavy handed for not even 7AM with a basic stranger. “But I usually spend most of my day in the kitchen, I don’t spend too much time around both of them together.”</p>
<p>He nods. “Oh? I guess I’m lucky I fall into your morning customer service window, then.”</p>
<p>She swallows. <em> I schedule my morning around you. You don’t come in everyday, and those days drag more than any other. </em></p>
<p>“Guess so,” she whispers, looking up at him. She bites her lip, a silent admission, and his lips quirk slightly, the barest hint of a smile. It feels like a secret, quiet and new. </p>
<p>The door chimes and she rolls her eyes, glancing away from him. That noise haunts her dreams. </p>
<p>Tanner walks back in, followed by a customer, and she pushes off from the counter. Tim stops her with a hand on her arm, and she freezes. It’s deliberate, like her hand on his shoulder. He’s pulling a couple bills out of his money clip, but she shakes her head. </p>
<p>“No,” she says, raising her eyebrows at him as he tries to hand her the money. </p>
<p>He smiles, full-on, blown-out grin, but it’s a look of surprise. “Cops can’t take freebies.”</p>
<p>“Oh, are you a cop? I had <em>no idea,” </em>she laughs, and his smile twitches into a smirk. Her stomach drops a little. She wants to play the moment on a loop forever. “What are you going to do, <em>arrest</em> <em>me?” </em></p>
<p>He takes a step closer to her, and she’s aware they aren’t alone, she’s aware she’s in her place of business, but she doesn’t step back. </p>
<p>“Don’t tempt me,” he says, his voice low. Before she can react, his fingers are tugging on a lock of her hair, his smirk firmly in place as she inhales sharply. “You’ve had flour in your hair all morning. It’s been driving me <em> crazy,” </em>he says, quietly, like it’s another secret. </p>
<p>She closes her eyes, exhaling slowly. The door chimes again, and she wants to scream. Tanner’s voice and the whir of the espresso machine invade their bubble, and she finally takes a step back, his hand falling from her hair. </p>
<p>His eyes linger over her body for a second, and he gestures to the Sharpie tucked into her shirt pocket. “Can I—?” He asks, and she both does and doesn’t want him to reach for it himself. She hands it to him, and he smiles, but Tanner’s voice interrupts any question she might have. </p>
<p>“Lucy, sorry, can you grab some 2% from the cooler?” </p>
<p>She nods, glancing over at him. She turns back to Tim, quickly. “Duty calls,” she says, grinning at him. He nods, and she needs to leave. One foot in front of the other. </p>
<p>The door chimes again, and she backs up toward the kitchen, waving quickly. He quirks a smile at her again, and the flirty, heady feeling follows her as she gets the milk and her apron from the kitchen. </p>
<p>He’s the first thing she looks for as she pushes back through the door, but he’s gone. Her Sharpie is on the counter, resting on a small card. She picks it up, glancing at Tanner. </p>
<p><em>IOU </em>, is all it says, and she flips it over and smiles. it’s his business card. The letters are raised and she brushes her thumb over his name. </p>
<p>“Have a good flirt sesh?” Tanner asks, and Lucy doesn’t have to glance over to know he’s openly laughing at her in front of customers. </p>
<p>“I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours,” she teases, and if the quick blush of Tanner’s cheeks is anything to go by, Tim clearly excels at being a cop and reading the room. </p>
<p>He turns back to his customer, and she smiles, pocketing the business card. </p>
<p>She’s still smiling as she turns back to the counter, beckoning the next customer forward. </p>
<p>“Welcome to Deja Brew! What can I get for you?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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